


The Curious Disappearance of Jessica Hasting

by dsa_archivist



Category: due South
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crossover, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-05-04
Updated: 1999-05-04
Packaged: 2018-11-11 00:48:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11137929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsa_archivist/pseuds/dsa_archivist
Summary: Due South ala Sherlock Holmes





	The Curious Disappearance of Jessica Hasting

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Speranza, the archivist: this story was once archived at [Due South Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Due_South_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Due South Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/duesoutharchive).

The Curious Disappearance of Jessica Hastings 

>  
This idea struck me with great force through no fault of my own. I was  
watching "The Deal" and thought about how similar Fraser's detecting  
skills are to a certain British Detective. That was all. So I thought  
about it, and this is what happened.

**DISCLAIMER** Fraser and Vecchio belong to Alliance. I don't own them (though I wish I did). I did not create Arthur Conan Doyle's Holmes and Watson, although they are only mentioned in passing. Also, I admit that the plot was "borrowed" from Laurie R. King's novel "The Beekeeper's Apprentice." Those of you who have read it may recognize Jessica. 

I wrote this because I haven't got the attention span to write a full-length mystery, but I enjoy Holmesian logic. And now, Fraserian logic. 

Enjoy! 

# *The Curious Disappearance of Jessica Hastings.*

If you can imagine, please, Due South Fans, London in 1890. Relatively speaking, Italy and England are not that far apart. So if you can imagine a tall, blue-eyed, fresh-faced man walking beside a thin, dark Italian gentleman. They are dressed fashionably, of course, according to the times. As it is a Sunday, morning coats and ties are required. The Italian carries a gold-topped walking stick, while the other gentleman walks calmly with his hands clasped behind his back. They are, as you know, Ray Vecchio and Benton Fraser. But this is a different time and place than modern Chicago. Indeed, this is London in 1890. Indeed, this is the time of Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson. But let us not concern ourselves with Conan Doyle's creations. Let us instead turn our interest to these two impeccably-dressed gentlemen. Where are they going? What are they doing? 

********** 

"Fraser, why are we walking when we could be taking a cab?" Vecchio waved his stick at a passing hansom, with an annoyed look on his face. 

"Observe, Vecchio." Fraser gestured with one hand toward the busy street. "The different tracks made by cabs in the mud." He knelt and pointed out the differences. 

"I don't want to kneel in the mud, Fraser. This is an expensive suit!" Vecchio tapped the ground with his stick in impatience. "And what importance does this have with the case you're on?" 

"Ah." Fraser said, a slight smile crossing his lips. "Observe. This wheel track here could not have been made by a two-wheeler. If you notice where the second set of wheels has passed over the first in rounding the corner, I think you will agree." 

"And what if there were two two-wheelers?" Vecchio said impatiently. "It could have been two, you know." 

"But then there would have been a second set of hoof prints over the first, which there are not." Fraser stood again. 

"But what does this have to do with the case?" Vecchio nearly yelled. 

Fraser looked at him, smiling again. 

"Ah." He said. "Nothing actually. I was merely observing. This however-" and here he drew a letter from his pocket, "- this does. Here is a letter from Mr. and Mrs. Hastings. If you recall, three nights ago their young daughter was abducted from their home on Regent Street. We are currently heading in that direction. It is easily within walking distance of our lodgings, thus we do not need the added expense of a cab fare. Besides-" He looked up, "-I believe we have arrived." 

Vecchio stared open mouthed as his companion strode up the front walk and rang the bell. 

"What! You made me walk all this way for a case?" He fumed. "I don't believe it!" 

"Shh." Fraser quieted him with a glance. "I made you walk here because it took us exactly-" He consulted his pocket watch, "-fifteen minutes. And that is important. Besides, you needed the exercise. Now quiet." He turned his attention back to the door. 

The door was opened presently by a young woman in a maid's costume. She half-curtsied when she saw Fraser. 

"Ah, Mr. Fraser. And Mr. Vecchio?" She ushered them inside. "I'll show you in." She took their hats and coats, deposited them in a closet, and led the two men into the drawing room. 

"Thank you, Victoria." Mr. Hastings said. He ushered the girl out, shut the doors from the hallway, then turned to his guests. "Mr. Fraser, Mr. Vecchio, this is my wife-" He gestured to a pale woman seated on the settee. She smiled halfheartedly. "-and as you know, on Sunday evening-" 

"Yes, we are acquainted with the facts of the case." Fraser said hastily, seeing Mrs. Hasting's face paling. "There is no need to reiterate them." 

"I'm not." Vecchio whispered. Fraser nudged him to be quiet. 

"Now, Mr. Hastings, sir. I have the report from the police constable called to the scene, who made the following observations." Fraser turned to a page in his notebook. "The parents returned at ten to seven. The child should have been asleep in the nursery by that time. The maid put her to bed. There was no sign of forced entry, either at the front or back of the house, and yet a ransom note was found on the dining room table. Footprints were not visible on the walk in front, although cab wheel marks were observed leading away from the house in a southerly direction. Victoria, the maid, was at home, but she was the only staff here at the time. And apparently she was in the kitchen cooking?" He sounded doubtful. 

"It was for Jessica's birthday. That would have been yesterday." Mrs. Hastings choked back a sob. "She would have been six." 

"I have all confidence that she still is six, Mrs. Hastings. There is no evidence whatsoever that your daughter is dead." He turned to Mr. Hastings. "Now I have seen the ransom note, all letters cut out from the headlines of the Times from the past week, and pasted with a chep paste onto a second sheet of newspaper. Very difficult to trace, no fingerprints. Since that time, you have received one letter from her, is that correct?" 

"Yes." Mr. Hastings held out a cream-coloured envelope. Fraser took it gingerly by the edges. 

"You would not have thought of fingerprints. Still, the paper is too rough to hold them properly." He examined the envelope closely. "A smudge of a thumb in this corner, most probably the letterman, it seems to be ink, while the envelope is addressed in pencil. Block printing, most effective at disguising the characteristics of the writer's hand." He opened the envelope and slid the letter out. "Addressed by the captor, as the printing in the letter is a child's. Jessica's, no doubt." He looked at Mr. Hastings, who gave a nod. He continued. "Also written with the same pencil, though probably before the envelope was addressed, the point is sharper. She seems to have taken great care in the composition. The lines are all fairly straight and the margins even, although the printing is curious. Was she a careful writer?" He turned to the parents. 

"Yes, very." Mr. Hasting said. "She used to take such care. She must have been under a lot of stress to have forgotten all her teaching." 

"A most precocious child." Fraser held the letter up to the light. "You see these irregular capitals, Vecchio." He handed the letter to his companion. "But based on what you have told me, Sir and Madam, quite unlike her. It is her printing?" 

Vecchio looked at the letter. It was, as Fraser had pointed out, painstakingly printed. 

"dear mum, I AM fine. the nice people have gIveN me toys to plAy with so i am not lonely. beCausE i am reaLLy good they hAve let me go outside. i miss you teRribly and i want to come HomE. pLease Pay them whatever they ask so they won't hurt ME. I LOVE YOU. Jessica." 

"So she's been kidnapped by some 'nice people'." He said. "Fraser, I don't get it." 

"Have there been any other correspondence from the kidnappers?" Fraser asked, ignoring Vecchio's question. 

"Not yet." Mr. Hastings replied. 

"With any luck, there will be none. Notify me the moment you receive any. If it is a telegram, it will be easy to trace. Perhaps harder if it is a letter." Fraser glanced around. "May I speak a moment with your maid?" He asked. Mr. Hastings nodded quickly and rang the bell for her. She came to the door, and Fraser stepped out into the hallway with her. 

Vecchio looked again at the letter. So Jessica was being held somewhere with outdoor access. Presumably where no one would notice or report a young child's presence. And, presumably, within a short distance, since the roads had been stopped off by the police shortly after the girl's disappearance had been noted. It had given the abductors an hour's head start to head out of the city. 

Fraser returned, shaking his head. 

"Quite a spirited young woman." He frowned. "Vecchio? Have you the letter? Yes? Well then, Mr. and Mrs. Hastings, although the trail is not fresh, I feel compelled to aid you as best I can. I shall return later. For now, we must go searching. Good day." 

Fraser and Vecchio retrieved their hats and coats and went out. 

"Give me the letter, please." Fraser said politely. 

"What is going on?!" Vecchio said explosively as they resumed their walk. "Are we going to search every house and shop in London?" 

"I did not have that in mind." 

"So we ask around--if you've seen Jessica Hastings, please, raise your hand?" A passerby looked at Vecchio strangely. He shrugged it off. 

"I must admit I did not have that in mind either." 

"So where are we going?" 

"To the stationer's. Note the high quality of the paper. The watermark is of a firm nearby. There has been planning behind this, although I fear not as much as to deter me from taking the case." 

"Are we going to walk, or can we take a cab this time?" Vecchio groaned. 

"That would be silly." Fraser suppressed a smile. "We are practically there." 

The two rounded the corner, and entered a small stationary store. The shopkeeper, an elderly man with white hair and bushy eyebrows looked up as they entered. 

"Good day, sir." Fraser said, approaching him. "I wonder if you might be of some assistance. I wish to purchase another sheet of this paper-" He held out the letter. "-and a matching envelope." 

The man took a quick look at the back of the letter, as Fraser did not let him see what was written on it, then scurried over to a shelf. He returned with a small stack of the cream-coloured paper and several envelopes. 

"You're lucky, sir. This is the last I have of this. It was a botched experiment, actually. I was attempting to produce a heavy writing paper, but it acts more as a blotter than paper. No one had much call for it." He put the stack down on the desk in front of him. 

"Has anyone purchased paper like this recently, say within the last three weeks?" Fraser held a sheet up to the light, nodding his head. 

"A couple of gentlemen came in just before I closed on Thursday. Said they wanted something their niece could write on. I sold it to them because it was inexpensive." The old man checked his book of sales. "Yes, that's right, two gentlemen. I wrote it down because it seemed funny, two gentlemen asking about their niece-" He broke of, looking quizzically at Vecchio and Fraser. 

"Ah." Fraser said. 

"Ah, we don't have a niece." Vecchio broke in. 

"Indeed." Fraser regained his composure. "We are investigating a kidnapping. Was there anything you noticed about the two men? Shoes, clothing, anything?" 

"They were wearing city shoes. And shabby coats. One of them was a big man, strong- looking. The other was small. That's all I remember." 

"You have been most helpful." Fraser laid some coins on the desk, and accepted a sheet of paper and an envelope. "Oh-" He said, his hand on the door handle, "-what time did you close on Thursday?" 

"Half past six." The old man said. 

"Thank you kindly." 

When they were out in the street, Fraser made a note of what the shop keeper had said, while Vecchio paced up and down the walk in front of him. 

"I don't believe this! You've got me walking all over London looking for paper and city shoes! And men with nieces! What do you make of this?" 

"'This' means nothing." Fraser held out the paper. "But the circumstances mean much more. There is now a gap between the time the men were seen leaving this shop and the time Jessica was reported missing. If you wish to expend more energy-" He motioned Vecchio toward the street. "-hail us a cab." 

"We're taking a cab?" Vecchio flagged one down gratefully. A four-wheeler drew up at the curb. The driver leaned down to talk with them. 

"Where to, Guv?" He asked. 

"How long would it take to get to Upper Regent Street, please?" Fraser asked. 

"'Bout fifteen minutes. Ten if I hurry. You goin' somewhere, Guv?" The man asked. 

"No, thank you." Fraser gave the man a coin and dismissed him. 

"What? Do you know how hard it is to get a cab at this time of day?" Vecchio said sharply. "My feet are sore enough already." 

"Come on." Fraser said briskly. "Let's go." 

"Where to now?" Ray groaned. 

"Well, it's lunchtime." Fraser said with a smile. 

********** 

The two men sat at a small table in a restaurant, Fraser studying the child's letter again. 

"Hey, would you stop pulling that thing out?" Vecchio complained. "You're giving me indigestion." 

"I doubt that Veccio, to cause indigestion it would have to be consumed first, and that would not be helpful at all. See here." Fraser swept his dishes to the side, and laid the letter on the table. He retrieved the other sheet of paper, and licked the point of his pencil. "Curious." He looked carefully at the child's handwriting. Then, noticing something, he pulled out his magnifying glass. With a start, he rose and took the letter to the window. 

"What is it now?" Vecchio was not going to leave his meal. Fraser returned. 

"I had missed this before. There is a curious smudge here on the other side of the letter. It matches the one on the envelope. I was such a fool to assume it was ink! It was not the letter carrier." He sniffed the smudge carefully. Vecchio looked away as Fraser gently touched the tip of his tongue to the smudge. "It is coal dust. And see here-" He showed the letter to Vecchio. These capital letters, I believe-" He worked frantically for a moment, running his finger down the brief lines of text. Then he held out the other sheet of paper to Vecchio. 

Vecchio wiped his mouth with his napkin before he took the sheet. 

"I AM IN A CELLAR. HELP ME. I LOVE YOU." He read. "I don't understand." 

"The capital letters, Vecchio. The child was not under stress, indeed she behaved remarkably well, considering her position. The capital letters held this message, but her captors would not have seen it. She is a very bright child." Fraser took back the sheet of paper. "She sent a message to her parents, the only message she could. Leaving five or so minutes for the abduction itself, still a respectable getaway time, we are looking for a house or shop within a radius of fifteen minutes by cab. The streets were shut down at seven o'clock, due to the child's disappearance, and all cabs were stopped and searched." He rose from the table. 

"Where are you going?" Vecchio asked. 

"To notify certain authorities. You are wise to return to our lodgings and await my return, given the state of your shoes. Or rather, the feet inside them." Fraser took his hat and coat, and left the restaurant. 

Vecchio, still finishing his luncheon, watched in disbelief as Fraser hailed a cab and rode away. 

"I don't believe it." 

********** 

Fraser returned to their lodgings on Baker Street tired, cold and elated. He let himself into their shared apartment, and called Vecchio. 

"I've got it!" 

Vecchio appeared from his bedroom sleepy, a little bewildered. 

"Got what?" He mumbled, rubbing his eyes. "It's almost suppertime." 

"Stop thinking of your stomach." Fraser cleared the mess off a small table, and laid down the remnants of a disguise. "I have found the child." 

"How?" Vecchio asked in disbelief. "Where is she?" 

"She is in the cellar of a small house on Harley Street. I managed to contact coal sellers around the city who have delivered to this area. From the ones supplying the type of coal producing the smudges I showed you, I was able to get a list of the houses they had recently delivered to. And by making a few discreet inquiries myself, I narrowed down the search to a block of houses. Of those, only some had cellars. The rest was simple." 

"That would be how you got coal dust all over your face." Vecchio pointed out. 

"Yes, and ruining a perfectly good pair of trousers as well." Fraser smiled. "Some cellar windows are a remarkably tight fit. But not for a six-year-old child." 

"Where is she?" 

"As I said, she remains in the cellar. But at the first sounds of the policemen knocking on the door, she is to escape through the open window into our waiting arms." Fraser began unbuttoning his shirt. "We have approximately fifteen minutes until the police begin to do their knocking. We should be there before they do. I will change, and then we shall go." 

"I trust we're taking a cab this time." Vecchio grumbled. 

"But of course." 

********** 

The police were awaiting Fraser's appearance, and when he and Vecchio stepped out from their cab, the police constable gave his men the orders to go. Fraser and Vecchio ran to the side of the house, where there was a small window set at ground level. As the police went in the front door, a wriggling figure emerged from the darkness beyond the frame. 

"Jessica!" Vecchio helped the girl out, bedraggled and smeared liberally with coal dust. She burst into tears at the sight of her rescuers. 

"A blanket would be helpful, Vecchio." Fraser sent him off for one. The two of them watched the police handcuff and cart away the two men, just as they had been described by the shop keep. Jessica looked up at Fraser. 

"Thank you." She said. "You got my message." 

"I did get your message. It was very clever. You are a smart girl." Fraser led her to the front of the house, where Vecchio met them with a blanket. "And now-" He gestured to the waiting cab. "-shall we?" 

********** 

They arrived at the Hastings house just in time for supper. Mrs. Hastings was overjoyed to see her daughter, and even Mr. Hastings wept. Fraser stood off to one side, his face calm as always. Vecchio stood looking pleased at the whole affair, even though he hadn't the slightest idea how it had come together. The maid, Victoria, had also been arrested for aiding the kidnapping, at the same time as the bust was occurring over on Harley Street. 

********** 

"Fraser," Vecchio said, as they sat before the fireplace later that evening. "How do you do it? I couldn't see how important any of that was, but you pulled it together so quickly. I am impressed." 

"Sometimes you have to grasp at threads." Fraser said quietly, looking up from the book he was writing in. "Just fortunately, those threads weave into a greater fabric. Observation and deduction, coupled with careful investigation. The moment I spoke with the maid, I knew she was lying. The kitchen door opened directly outside. The men took a cab from the house, not to the house, which I knew from the direction of the tracks. She let them into the house, and saw them out the front door. The smaller man drove the cab, judging by the depth of the tracks. There was little else to leave to the imagination." He sat back again, pleased. 

Vecchio smiled. They sat in silence for a while, until the mournful sound of a violin started up nearby. They listened for a moment. Then Fraser spoke; 

"We really must do something about that Mr. Holmes next door. For all his brilliance, the man really cannot play a note." 

And they both had a good laugh, a cup of tea, and then went to bed. 

THE END. 

By Jennifer Coe 

jesterangel@hotmail.com 

* * *


End file.
